


The Heart of a King

by Lady_Loki (Lady_Juno)



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Betrayal, F/M, Female Bilbo, Female Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Fili is King Under the Mountain, Forgiveness, Grief/Mourning, Not A Fix-It, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Posthumous Love Letter, Reconciliation, fem!Bilbo, girl!Bilbo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-02 13:22:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4061566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Juno/pseuds/Lady_Loki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last he'd seen of her was a final, tearful backward glance as she moved heavily down the rough path that led to the encampment of Bard and the Elvenking. Kili could tell just by looking at his uncle - this had broken him. More than all those brooding looks the young dwarf had seen when Thorin stared into the fire, thinking about the day the dragon had come, and so many he'd loved had perished. This was different. Erebor was his mind, his will, his soul. This was his heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Heart of a King

**Author's Note:**

> As you may infer by the psued under which this story is published, Lady Loki wrote this beatimous piece all by her little ol' lonesome, and sent it to me in the middle of the night some time ago. I think I nearly died. Today, I read through it again, just to check for any typos... I bawled like a baby. Ah, that reminds me-
> 
>  **WARNING:** If you have even a scrap of love for the Durins in your body, this will make you cry. And I mean serious, ugly sobbing, tears dripping into your lap sort of thing. Get tissues ready. You will need them.

Kili woke to darkness and a sound like great wings beating all around him. The wind was whipping wildly at the thin walls of the tent, wailing like a child lost on the moors, and the young dwarf fumbled at the floor beside his cot for the lantern. It had gone out.

Groaning, he eased himself off the springy canvas, extricated himself from his blanket, and limped blindly across the sharp, crunching gravel that was the floor. He'd let the lantern go out. The lantern was not supposed to go out.

Bumping clumsily into another cot, he whispered an apology to whoever was in it (most likely Fili) and groped his way to the tent door. There was a small cask of oil there that he'd been using this past day and a half while they waited.

It would be soon. That's what everyone was saying with bowed heads and hushed tones. "He's waiting," Oin said, when Kili asked him about it.

"Waiting for what?"

"For her."

 _Her_ was Billa. Billa Baggins, his burglar. The one he'd loved. The one who'd betrayed him. The one he'd banished. The one who had ever defied him as she saw fit. Except in this. This command she'd respected.

The last he'd seen of her was a final, tearful backward glance as she moved heavily down the rough path that led to the encampment of Bard and the Elvenking. Kili could tell just by looking at his uncle - this had broken him. More than all those brooding looks the young dwarf had seen when Thorin stared into the fire, thinking about the day the dragon had come, and so many he'd loved had perished. This was different. Erebor was his mind, his will, his soul. This was his heart.

The battle had been brutal. A high toll had been paid on all sides - but less than it might've been, thanks to the courage of Thorin Oakenshield, who led a sortie unlooked-for from the safety of Erebor's walls. Was it honor, then, that drove him out again? Or was it a longing for death? Kili hadn't had time to judge his uncle's mood. All he knew was he didn't like it. It hadn't felt... right.

And it turned out precisely as Thorin had wished. A goblin spear in the chest, cracking the ribs as it went. It found its mark to the left of his heart, since that had already been stabbed through. Now the King Under the Mountain lay dying, and no one could help him.

Many were speaking to Fili as though he'd already been crowned. Kili hated that. While his uncle still breathed, he was the king. And the closest thing he'd ever had to a father. The essence of everything he'd longed to be. It didn't seem real. It wasn't possible. Uncle Thorin simply couldn't be dying. A world without him was unfathomable. Unreal.

Kili scooped out a portion of the oil, refilled the lantern by feel alone, and rummaged in his coat pockets for the flint he'd stowed there. No sooner had he lit the wick than he caught a low moan from across the tent. He knew that voice, even if it hadn't actually spoken. That sound of despair and pain... was Thorin.

He'd been unconscious for a day now, and Oin had begun to accept that he might not wake again at all. Heart in his throat, Kili staggered across the space between them, favoring his injured and bandaged leg. It had been the worst of his wounds over the course of the battle - a chance arrow to the calf. Thankfully, it hadn't affected any joints, so he'd been able to grit his teeth and keep fighting until the end.

The end. As if the battle were actually over. No. It went on. It went on as long as it had power over those whose bodies and minds it had claimed. Its shadow stretched on. A terrible day that simply wouldn't end.

Kili set the lantern on the cluttered table beside Thorin's bed (a proper one, if a bit scorched, that had been brought up from the wreckage of Laketown soon after the disposition of the Mountain King had been made known). His face was nearly as pale as his uncle's, flickering in the sickly yellow glow of the light.

Thorin was awake, head propped on two pillows, the way Oin had settled him that afternoon, as it aided his breathing. His eyes were open. Kili knew he was seeing what was before him - his gaze seemed to sweep the room searchingly - and it was bringing him no comfort.

"I'm here, Uncle." Kili knelt at the bedside, taking one of Thorin's hands in both of his. It was very cold, colder than Kili had felt it since the day he'd been wounded. He rubbed it gently, trying to warm it up. "Uncle?"

The young dwarf heard a soft creaking behind him and knew Oin had been roused.

"K- Kili." Thorin's voice was weak, so faint it could have been easily missed. Like a shadow cast by fading light.

"Yes, Uncle. It's me." Kili's voice cracked, and he didn't care. This might as well have been the world's end. This moment was all that existed.

Thorin's eyelids closed halfway, partially concealing the vibrant blue orbs that had ever been one of his more notable features. "Nephew," he rasped. "Help your brother. Don't let him... make the mistakes... I did." It was clear each of these groups of words were consuming tremendous amounts of his remaining strength, and there were lengthy pauses in between.

Kili nodded slowly, features twisting as he struggled to keep his expression even. "But I'd rather you lived and... learned from those mistakes." He squeezed Thorin's hand. "Please. Don't give up, Uncle. I know you're stronger than this. We... need you."

Thorin sighed, shaking his head weakly. "You'll get on... without me. I know you will."

"But... the kingdom, Uncle. It's too much. Fili can't- it'll crush him, the weight. He's not ready."

"Nor was I. If he waits until he is ready... Erebor will never have a king."

Kili glanced over his shoulder and saw that Fili was standing behind him, looking about as miserable and forlorn as ever a dwarf could. As if the glance were a tacit invitation, he moved to the bedside and knelt beside his brother. He placed a hand on Thorin's arm, leaning over him. "I want to make you proud, Uncle. If I must be king, I will try. I'll try to be... the king you would've been."

Thorin shook his head again, more firmly this time. He seemed to rally a little, some of his strength returning. These final words were important, and he knew it. "No, Fili. No. You must be who you will be, and no one else. See what my legacy has been, and learn from it. I was proud, and now I am humbled. I wounded that which I loved... and now it has been taken from me forever."

Kili swallowed heavily. "Billa would have come if she knew. I know she would've."

Fili’s gaze landed on him with clear disapproval, as though he couldn't believe his brother would be so insensitive.

Kili pretended not to notice. "She loves you, Uncle. She always has. I don't know why she did what she did, but I don't believe she meant for it to turn out this way."

Thorin's face was lined with pain, whether that of his wounds or the subject at hand, Kili couldn't say. "I never deserved her. Billa. She- she was trying to save me from it. From the curse my grandfather fell under. I was too blind to see it, then, but the pain of nearing death clears away such illusions. And how did I repay her?" He winced, remembering. "I love her. I love her more... more than life." He released a moist, painful-sounding cough, and a line of red dribbled down the side of his mouth. He groaned, and Kili wiped the blood away with a cloth.

"Perhaps I am fortunate, then," Thorin whispered, eyes fully shut now. "I won't have to endure life without her."

Kili exchanged a look with Fili. It seemed there was nothing to be done, no calling him back. The younger of the two brothers, though, was unwilling to give up so easily. "Don't... don't think like that. There's still a chance. We could send for her. I'll... I'll go after her myself, if that's what it will take."

"I never... told her...." Thorin's voice was very faint now, little more than a whisper, and ended in another choking cough.

"Then hang on!" Kili urged desperately, gripping Thorin's hand more tightly. "Hang on and tell her. You let go now, and it's over. She'll go on thinking you died furious at her, the way you were when you sent her away."

"It's... it's too late. If she loved me... she would have... she wouldn't have... let me banish her."

Kili shook his head fiercely. If he wouldn't stay alive for his kingdom, or for Billa, would he stay alive for his nephews? "Uncle... please don't leave us. You're... you've always been like a father to me and Fili. Closest thing we ever had. And Mother. Your sister. You'd leave her to care for us on her own? She needs you as much as we do."

"Dís never... needed anyone. Stronger... than me. She'd have made... a better king."

Kili turned a pleading look on his brother. It seemed he'd run out of ideas. Fili shook his head sadly. "There's nothing to be done, Kee. Uncle's made up his mind."

Oin gently pushed his way in between the two young dwarves, face hard as stone. He pulled the heavy blankets back to reveal Thorin's bandaged chest, where a spreading blotch of garnet was rapidly seeping through the cream-colored gauze.

The grey-haired dwarf shut his eyes a moment, as if something had been confirmed, and drew the covers up to Thorin's chin again, leaving the dwarf king's hands exposed as they'd been before, still gripped tightly in his nephew's fingers. Oin turned away to mix another pain-deadening drink. Maybe the last one that would be required.

Thorin opened his eyes again, squinting a little. "You... dimmed the lantern?"

Kili shook his head slowly.

"Ah. I see." Thorin heaved a rattling sigh. As if possessed of some final surge of strength, he squeezed Kili's hand. "Lean closer, nephew."

Kili did as he was asked, adopting something similar to the stony expression of the old healer. Was he resigned now? Was that how it was? In any case, he wasn't going to make this any harder for his uncle than it already was. He could put on a brave face. Like Fili.

"I... need you to... write something for me." Thorin clung tightly to Kili's hand. The young dwarf glanced at Fili, who rushed off, returning a bare minute later with a roll of paper, a quill, and ink.

Over the next handful of minutes, Thorin dictated and Kili recorded what he said. The night was still but for the wind raking across the canvas, the dull scratch-scratch of the quill, and Thorin's failing voice. That voice, so deep, rich, full of authority, had become little more than a weak, gasping whisper, hollow, like the wind itself, interspersed with fits of choking. Like everything else about Thorin; the strength and presence of his physicality was being stolen away as the minutes ticked by. It grieved Kili more than anything else, seeing his uncle reduced to this shell of the dwarf he had been.

Finally, the dictation was complete. Thorin was too weak to go on, and lay with his eyes shut, trembling. Oin moved between Kili and his brother once more, bearing a sloshing cup that smelled pungently of herbs. He leaned down, but as he touched the edge of the cup to Thorin's lips, the dwarf turned his head away.

"No. No more."

Oin wouldn't force it. Thorin knew better than any of them his time was short. He wanted to be aware at the moment of his passing.

With a small sigh, the old healer withdrew the cup and took it away. The pungent scent lingered.  As did the silence.

Thorin's breathing had grown more labored, and there were lengthy gaps in between each breath. His eyes remained closed. Kili brushed a long, sweat-damp strand off Thorin's forehead, dipped a rag in the ewer on the bedside table, and dabbed gently at his uncle's face.

"The infection's taking him," Oin pronounced in an undertone. "Could be any time now."

"Can he still hear us?" Kili asked, glancing over his shoulder. His voice was remarkably steady.

"It's said no matter how deep they vanish into the mind, they can still perceive what's going on around them."

Kili nodded slowly, gently stroking his uncle's cold fingers. "You know, I remember the day you came back from Azanulbizar. Barely, but I remember. You were so... calm. Like a rock the rest of us could steady ourselves against. You brought Mother the news about our father. 'Hewn down while defending the king,' you said. I'll never forget it. And even through her tears, Mother looked proud."

Fili, still kneeling beside his brother, lowered his head slightly, and Kili sensed he was in the grip of memories long tucked away, long avoided. "Uncle, I think of you more like a father than I ever did my real one. You were the dwarf I always looked up to, always wanted to be. Even when Kee and I had to crane our necks to look up into your face - you were always so... big, so tall - when you napped we stole the Oakenshield from where you always leaned it near the door and..."

Kili smiled despite himself, shaking a little with suppressed laughter. "And I always had to be Azog. Some brother Fee was. He was older, that's what he said. 'I'm the oldest, so I get to be Thorin.'"

Fili gripped his brother's shoulder bracingly. "I... I guess I just... really wanted to be like Uncle."

"I hope you're not... mad about that," Kili added quickly. "We were careful. I think I only dropped the Oakenshield once, but you were so exhausted that all you did was mumble at us and go right on sleeping."

"I wasn't nearly as naive as you thought." Thorin's voice issued weakly, though his eyes remained closed. The brothers turned to look, perhaps a little abashed that their uncle had evidently heard everything.

Kili started to apologize, but Thorin's mouth curved in a gentle half-smile. "You were the sons... I never had. Made me so proud. Always will."

Balin had gone after his brother, and the two of them now stood in the doorway, gravely looking on. With the distinct cast of grief, the hulking dwarf's face seemed somehow... softer. Less intimidating. "We will not forget you, Thorin." His voice quavered, the gruffness all but fled.

Thorin's head turned a little toward the doorway, though he still didn't open his eyes. "My loyal friend. You have always been... the sturdiest, the surest, the best dwarf... I know."

That was enough for Dwalin, whose chin lowered to his chest, silent tears dropping onto his clasped hands.

Thorin shuddered, cringing, and his nephews gripped his hands tighter.

"Go on, Uncle." Kili's voice was as stable as he could manage, but his face twitched with the effort. He leaned onto the mattress, resting his cheek against Thorin's arm. "I know we'll see you again. Someday. Wait for us."

Thorin's response was a squeeze of the hand, even now surprisingly strong, an echo of the strength the dwarf had always exhibited in his life.

His fingers relaxed. A final set of rattling, moist breaths. Kili thought he'd stopped breathing altogether, so long a space ensued. All at once, one final, choking breath, one last, violent spasm.

Then Thorin was still. Still as no living creature ever is. Not the faintest stir of limb or rise of the chest. Kili glanced at his brother with what might have been shock. Just like that, their uncle was gone from this life. So strong a presence, so great a heart, removed forever.

Quietly, Oin moved between the two and leaned down, placing his best ear to Thorin's chest. Not even the deafest of dwarves could have missed a heartbeat at that range. A long, silent moment passed, and Oin stood up again, shaking his head sadly.

"The king is dead," he pronounced with solemn formality. Another moment of silence that seemed to stretch on into the far reaches of eternity. At last, Oin turned to Fili, placed both hands over his heart, and bowed. The others, to a dwarf, followed suit.

"Long live the king." It was Balin who spoke first the ancient phrase that saw one reign ending and another beginning, though the others echoed it faintly in low, rumbling voices.

There were hints of terror lurking in Fili's blue-green eyes, but he managed to maintain his composure as he acknowledged the respect of the others. "I will lead with Mahal's guidance," he whispered, glancing at the pale face of Thorin, whose lips had already turned faintly blue. "And the way my uncle wished: with love, with generosity, and with appreciation for... those things that are most important, and always will be. Things no amount of gold can buy."

Kili had a new admiration for Fili in that moment. If he'd doubted his brother could capably rule before... he did no longer. That look in the blond's eyes he recognized well, despite the fear that partially clouded it. As if some of Thorin's spirit lingered and had transferred to Fili, the young dwarf now bore that same look of noble purpose. The heart of a king had awakened within him.

Clapping his brother on the forearm, Kili smiled reassuringly. "You'll be just fine, Brother."

With great dignity, Oin drew the bloodstained blankets over Thorin's head. The look on the dead face was unmistakably one of peace... and love. "Farewell, my king," the old dwarf whispered. "You led us well. You led us home. We all owe you... the deepest of debts."

He had scarcely finished speaking when there was something of a commotion at the tent door. An insistent, high-pitched voice and a lower, firmer one. One of the dwarven guards poked his head in through the flap, bowing his head briefly. "It's a halfling. Says she's been summoned here. Should I send her off?"

Kili turned a glare on the guard. "She's too late. She came too late."

"Let her in." Fili stepped in front of his brother, looking remarkably collected. "She deserves, at least, to see what she's done."

The guard nodded soberly and disappeared, apparently just realizing the King Under the Mountain was no longer Thorin, and a moment later, the coppery curls of the hobbit, sticking out wildly every which way, lurched through the canvas flap and pulled up short before the two very grim-looking brothers.

"Where is he?" she demanded, trying to push between them. "Where's Thorin? Why aren't you letting me through? I have to help him!"

"He's gone, Billa." The first hints of pity began tugging at Kili's insides at the hobbit's reaction. If her heart had failed within her, he wouldn't have been a bit surprised. She looked dead on her feet. Her face became ghostly white, her eyes glazed over, her body went limp.

"I killed him," she said quietly. "I killed him. It's my fault. I did this." Her voice was flat and dull, weak, as though every ounce of her strength had fled her all in an instant. "Gandalf found me, told me what happened. Rode... all night. Said he'd... give me a moment before he came in. But I'm too late. Just... just too late." She collapsed where she was, folding in on herself, unaware of the sharp gravel that covered the floor. "I did this," she kept whispering again and again through bitter sobs, rocking rhythmically back and forth. "I did this."

"Give her the letter, lad," Balin urged, sparing a sympathetic glance for the halfling. Dwalin had gone to tell Dain and the others, and Oin was quickly changing the topmost blanket on Thorin's bed. To see the blood would only make it worse for Billa. Kili nodded, and turned to retrieve the rolled parchment.

"My uncle's dictation. He wanted you to have this." Billa was no longer sobbing, just shuddering quietly on the ground, and Kili had to physically press the rolled paper into her trembling fingers.

A moment passed in which Billa did nothing. Finally, as if coming to herself, she nodded weakly, took the parchment on both hands, and gently unrolled it.

* * *

_ My Dearest Billa: _

_I don't know where or when this will reach you. It may be many long journeys of the sun and moon, and by then you may be back among the comforts of home. That beautiful, green Shire I passed through year after year with a dismissive scoff. You were all soft, I thought, and ignorant. When you commissioned work, it was ploughs, pans, and wheelbarrows, and I shook my head and muttered, "A waste of my skill."_

_I wish I could tell you face to face, now that I am dying, just how wrong I was. How cold and dead and silent the halls of gold were as I passed through them and saw how empty a pursuit hoarding treasure is. The truth is, you saved me, Billa. I was a fool to think you'd betrayed me, to think you did what you did for profit. I wish I could blame the stone for its hold over me, but my own stubbornness and pride were at least equally responsible._

_And anyway, now it no longer matters. The gold will no more mourn me when I am gone than it did Smaug. Or my grandfather. I have become like them both, and I didn't know it until it was too late._

_I ask your forgiveness for how I've wronged you, Billa. You were the sun in a lifetime of rain, warm and pure and honest. If I had it to do over again, I would have held on to you like the most priceless of gems, believed the best in you rather than falling prey to my old habits. As it is, I suppose the best I can hope for is that you know my heart - even though, by now, it has surely stopped beating._

_Where I go, I carry with me the only treasure I now truly value: my love for you, and my memories of the time we shared._

_You are welcome among my kin, should you find your true home is the place you have helped reclaim for my people. They shall be forever grateful to you. And so will I._

_I wish I could have seen you, could've kissed you one last time. I'm certain you would have come if you had known._

_All my love,_

_Thorin Oakenshield_

* * *

 

Billa clutched the paper to her heart, inhaling a ragged breath. Her gaze was fixed on a point beyond Kili. "I need... to see him," she said finally, her voice little more than a constricted whimper. "I have to, Kili. Please."

Kili glanced at his brother, obviously very moved. Fili nodded, and the two brothers stepped out of the way, giving the little hobbit uninhibited access to the bed.

Sniffling, Billa staggered to her feet, looking somewhat wobbly. The letter was still clutched tightly in her trembling fist, and when she caught sight of the blanket-covered form on the bed, she shuddered, her free hand going over her mouth. Desperately holding herself together, the hobbit moved to the bedside, kneeling down so her elbows rested on the hard edge of the mattress. She nodded slowly at Oin, and the old healer gently withdrew the blanket, revealing Thorin's still, pale face and neck, but being careful to keep his chest covered.

Billa closed her eyes briefly, sucking in another shaky breath. Then she opened them again. "Thorin," she whispered. "I was too late. I tried, but... I guess fate had a different idea. Wherever you are now... I want you to know. There is nothing to forgive. You weren't yourself. It wasn't your fault. I knew, deep down, you would remember me. If only I hadn't... gone away."

She brushed a hand lightly over his cold cheek, smoothed his hair, straightened his four stranded braids. Her fingertips lingered on one of the ornately etched silver beads, and she twisted one absently as she'd often done lying beside him at night, tucked against his warm side. But he was so cold now. Cold as the stone that had settled in her heart. She would never again fall asleep beneath the warmth of his coat, hear the peaceful susurration of his breath, or appreciate the safety she felt enfolded in his strong arms.

Sobbing softly again, she crawled up onto the bed beside him, settling against his yielding side.

"That's better," she whispered to him. "You're so cold. I'll warm you up this time."

"Billa," Kili said, concerned, but Fili put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head.

"Let her be. She needs this, I think."

If Billa had heard Kili, she made no acknowledgment. She was quite in her own world now, and there was nothing and no one in it besides Thorin. Slowly, still shuddering with sobs, she pulled one of the beads from his braid. "I'll wear it always, my love. In token of my promise. I'm yours now. And you'll always be mine. And when the little one asks who her father is, I'll smile proudly and tell her. I'll tell her everything, in time."

Kili couldn't have been more shocked if Smaug had suddenly returned to life and incinerated their tent. By the look on Fili's face, it was clear he'd overheard, too.

"Billa... you.... You're...?" Kili sputtered unsuccessfully before giving up. Billa clearly hadn't heard him, as she went right on discussing their "little one."

"And what about a name? For girls, we hobbits use flowers." She frowned. "Of course, you'd probably be appalled. You'd probably suggest some bizarre combination of our names. Thilla. Thora. Something like that."

It was at this moment that Gandalf finally entered, and momentarily surveyed the faces of the others, as well as the ghostly pallor of Thorin. The Wizard's seamed face became somehow older, more careworn. Mournful. Leaning heavily on his staff, he lowered his head. "It was too late, then," he murmured. "Regrettable, indeed. I did not foresee this turn."

After a time, Billa grew silent. Kili wondered if she'd exhausted herself and fallen asleep. For all its occupants, the tent maintained the reverential, murmuring quiet as Fili and Kili sat side by side on a cot and discussed with Balin what was to come now in the changing of the guard. The world felt larger and more frightening without the reassuring presence of their uncle. He had ever been guide and guardian to them, and now they would have to guide and guard themselves.

A glance at the Wizard told Kili that Gandalf still stood by the doorway, clutching his staff tightly and looking on gravely, his gaze on Billa and the dwarf king he'd failed to save. It was clear this was a difficult truth to swallow. This had not been supposed to happen. He had seen many tragedies in his time - this one, perhaps, troubled him more than the others. For some reason, that thought was almost comforting.

The dawn arrived, cold and grey beneath the low-hanging clouds, and the light that filtered in between the cracks of the tent was dreary and tired. A gentle rain began to slant down, thudding rhythmically on the canvas roof. At least it suited the mood.

Finally, the old Wizard lifted the sleeping Billa from the bed, gently enough that she didn't wake. He caught Kili's eye. "She'll be alright, I think. But she's been through too much these past few days. I suggest assigning Ori to keep her company from now until after the entombment. They got along quite well, as you know."

Kili cleared off one of the nearby cots, looking unsettled. "I think Ori would be happy to," he answered at last, his voice flat. The word "entombment" had caught him off guard. It was such a cold concept, committing the uncle he'd loved so much - the uncle he still loved, would always love - to a bed of stone, to sleep until the end of time, never to be seen among the living again. He sighed heavily through his nose, fetching a blanket to cover the sleeping halfling now that Gandalf had deposited her carefully on the yielding canvas of the cot.

"When will the... entombment be?"

"Tonight, as I understand it." The Wizard turned to look at the still, blue-tinged face of the king. "He will be laid to rest with all honor and dignity, the Arkenstone at his breast, there to stay. It will not trouble any future Kings Under the Mountain."

Kili shook his head, dark eyes flashing with sudden fire. “No.” Gandalf’s words had struck an unexpected chord. "No. It's what drove my uncle mad, what turned him for a few short days into something he would have been ashamed of for the rest of his life if that hadn't been cut short. The Arkenstone," he pulled something from his pocket that flashed like a star, even in the dim light, "will not haunt my uncle in death. I'll throw it into the deepest part of the lake, and let the cold, dark, silence claim it. That's where it belongs, Gandalf. That's the way Uncle would've wanted it to be."

The Wizard bowed deferentially, some amount of surprise hiding in the half-smile beneath his grey beard. "I think that is wise, Kili. Wiser than many twice your age would've been on such matters. Dain, I think, will understand."

Kili paced quietly to Thorin's bedside again, gazing down with immense sadness. "I can only do what he asked of us, Gandalf. Learn from his mistakes. Otherwise his death will have been for nothing." He knelt beside the bed again, placing a hand over his uncle's cold forehead, over his white, bloodless eyelids. "Uncle, I'm going to do what you would've done if you'd had the chance. If I could be half the dwarf you were... I'd be content."

A tear rolled down his cheek, and he let it be. "I'll see you again." He kissed Thorin's forehead gently, pulled the sheet up over him once more, and turned to the door.

"When she wakes," he glanced at Billa, "tell her I stand by what Uncle wrote in his letter to her. She is welcome to stay here with us. She and, when the time comes, her child. We'd be... honored."

Gandalf nodded, smiling faintly with what might've been pride, and the young dwarf turned, pushed aside the canvas door, and walked out into the rain. The flap remained partially open, and the Wizard watched as Kili, the Arkenstone glowing like a tiny moon in his fingers, sloshed through rivulets of thick, silty mud, mounted a pony saddled earlier at his request, and set his face to Long Lake, and the city destroyed by a dragon's greed. A city that would be rebuilt by the generosity of a young dwarf king. A king very much like Thorin Oakenshield would have been.


End file.
